I stare at him, trying to find my voice, mumble some kind of reply, but I can’t. My throat’s gone hot and tight, closed up completely. And before I can stop it, before I can switch my gaze to something other than him—the tears begin.

Falling freely down my face and gaining in intensity to the point where I can no longer stop it, can no longer curb the sobbing, the shoulder shaking, and the deep pit of despair that makes my gut curl.

Aware of Miles hurrying around the counter and gathering me into his arms, smoothing my hair and doing his best to calm me, as he whispers sweet things into my ear.

But I know better.

I know the sentiments aren’t at all true.

It reallywon’t be okay.

At least not in the way that he claims.

I may have eternal youth and beauty—I may have thegift of living forever—but I’ll never again have the kind of wonderful, lovely normalness that Miles just described.

Chapter 13

By late Saturday afternoon, there’s just no avoiding them. Sabine is in the kitchen chopping up a pile of vegetables for a Greek salad, while Munoz stands beside her, molding ground turkey into generously sized patties.

“Hey, Ever.” He looks up, smiling briefly. “You planning to join us? There’s plenty more where this came from.”

I glance at Sabine, seeing the way her shoulders stiffen, the way her knife hits the board just a little bit harder as she pummels a tomato, and I know she’s still a long way from forgiving me, from accepting me, and I just can’t deal with it now.

“No, um, actually, I’m about to head out,” I say, barely meeting his gaze, hoping to avoid a stop and chat, since I’m far too eager to make my way out of here.

Making for the entry, just about free, when he finishes with the patties, looks at me, and says, “You mind getting the door?”

I pause, knowing this isn’t just about getting the door. This is about him wanting to talk to me somewhere quiet and private, where his girlfriend can’t overhear. But knowing there’s no good way to get out of it, I follow him outside and over to the grill where he wrestles with the hood, spins the dials, and goes about some serious burger prep.

So engrossed in the task, I’m just about to leave, figuring I completely misread him when he says, “So, how’s school going this year? I haven’t seen you around much—if at all.” He steals a quick glance at me, before he’s back at it again, shaking some kind of secret spice blend onto the meat as I stand there and try to come up with a reply.

Figuring there’s no use lying to someone who can just as easily check the attendance records, I lift my shoulders and say, “Well, that’s probably because I’ve pretty much skipped every day but the first. In fact, other than that, I haven’t gone at all.”

“Ah.” He nods, placing the spice jar on the granite counter before he turns and allows his eyes to graze over me. “Bad case of senioritis, I guess.”

I scratch my arm, even though it doesn’t itch, and try not to squirm any more than I already have.

Averting my gaze to the window where Sabine stands watch, the very sight of her making me yearn for escape.

“Usually doesn’t start until the last semester, that’s when it all falls apart. But it looks like you caught the bug early. Is there anything I can do to help?”

Yeah, you can tell your girlfriend not to judge me—you can tell Haven not to try to kill me—you can tell Honor not to threaten me—and you can uncover the long-buried truth about Damen and me—oh, and in your free time, if you could get your hands on a certain stained white shirt and send it over to the crime lab for analysis—that would be great!

Though, of course, I don’t say any of that, instead, I just shrug and sigh louder, hoping he’ll hear it and tune in to the not-so-silent message it contains.

But if he does, he chooses to ignore it. “You know, just in case you think you’re alone in all this—you’re really not.”

I squint, not sure what he’s getting at.

“I’ve talked to her, you know. Shared some of the research I’ve run across on people who’ve had near-death experiences.”

Despite my wanting to leave, I place my hands on my hips and lean slightly toward him. “And how do you justrun across that type of research?” I ask. “I mean, seriously. Isn’t that the kind of thing you have to go looking for on your own?”

He focuses on the meat, transferring it from the plate to the grill. His voice low, matter of fact, when he explains, “I saw a piece on TV once, and I found it quite fascinating. So fascinating I bought a book on the subject, which led to more books on the subject, and…so on.” He presses his spatula to the burger, causing the juices to riot and sizzle. “But you—you’re the first one I’ve met who’s actually experienced such a thing. Have you ever thought of taking part in one of those research groups? I hear they’re always looking for new subjects.”

“No,” I say, barely giving him a chance to finish the question. My answer firm, final, sparing no time to really consider. The last thing I need is to take part in some schlocky case study.

But he just laughs, raising his mitt-covered hands in surrender, saying, “Don’t shoot. Just asking is all.”

He flips the burgers, one after the other, causing a popping, sizzling, barbeque soundtrack we both stand there and listen to.

Then, as soon as they’re ready, he scrapes ’em right off and drops ’em back onto the plate, stopping long enough to look at me and say, “Listen, Ever, just give her some time to get comfortable with the idea. It’s not easy having your whole belief system challenged, you know? But if you’ll just ease up a little, she’ll come around. Really she will. I promise to continue to work on her, if you’ll promise to do your part too. And, before you know it, it’ll all blow over. You’ll see.”